


Home Again

by prettygirllostt



Category: Sherlock - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-19
Updated: 2013-01-20
Packaged: 2017-11-26 01:57:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 7,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/645274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prettygirllostt/pseuds/prettygirllostt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Sherlock comes home and John isn't sure how to function.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Easy Way

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time writing anything like this, so please bear with it. Thanks to those on Tumblr who encouraged me to keep going.

Sherlock didn’t know how this had happened. He had believed his absence would only last a month, 6 at most. Now he stood in front of his old home, a year after his faked death, and watched his flat mate in the window. The light flickered as the man moved about the room. Sherlock had been watching the window for days now and had found himself simply unable to make a move to go up into the old home.  
“You have to go up there at some point,” Mycroft said loftily.  
“What are you doing here?” Sherlock didn’t bother to turn to his brother. Instead he watched the man in the window move away and farther into the flat. He took a small step forward before catching himself.  
“I am helping to fix the life you managed to leave in shambles. He misses you, though heaven knows why. You need to at least tell him.”  
“And you know all of that from what?” Sherlock snapped.  
“Now, now. You truly think I’m not paying attention? That man loves you. He’s a mess if what I’ve heard from our dear Detective is anything to go by. You’ve done what you left to do. Everyone is safe and now he’s the last one to know so just get up there. I’ve watched you struggle with this for long enough. Just go.”  
Sherlock turned to his brother with calculated fury. “He will not forgive me. It is much easier to stand here and process than it is to take that step. Love? You hardly believe in love. Caring is not an asset, isn’t that correct?”  
“Are you afraid?” Mycroft lifted his eyebrows.  
“Not remotely. I am simply stating facts. I can find another place to live and continue on without disturbing his life.”  
“You aren’t one to take the easy road,” Mycroft said.  
Sherlock didn’t miss the discreet closing of his brother’s cell phone nor did me miss the shadow cast in the window as the man peered out. Sherlock turned fully to face his brother. Running his fingers through his hair roughly he frowned.  
“I was not planning on taking the easy road. I see you’ve taken things into your own hands once more,” Sherlock snapped.  
“Only for you,” Mycroft smiled before backing toward the street. “And simply because I don’t believe in love doesn’t mean your John Watson doesn’t.” A car pulled up discreetly and he opened the door before sliding inside.  
Sherlock watched with fury in his eyes as his brother rounded the corner leaving him to deal with the man he’d left behind.


	2. Things He Didn't Know

Chapter 2  
Things He Didn’t Know  
John had an unusual text from Mycroft. Many texts from Mycroft were unusual, but this one left him reeling.  
What you miss is on the street. Come down.  
John checked the text once more as he shrugged on his jacket. When he’d taken a quick glance out the window Mycroft had been standing there along with a tall man in a dark coat but John had grown used to his eyes playing tricks on him so he’d simply moved slower while trying to process. When he reached the bottom of the stairs he hesitated at the door.  
“Are you coming out or do I have to stand here in the cold for long?” a cool voice shot through the door.  
John’s hand trembled.  
“I know how long it should take you, John. Come out already,” it was Sherlock’s voice. The voice he’d been pretending was with him every day since he’d watched his best friend dive to his death. He leaned against the door for a moment before pushing it open.  
He blinked as his eyes adjusted to the dark. A tall man in a dark coat stood in front of him. Pale skin and a taunt face with bright eyes stared down at him. Sherlock had his hands buried in his pockets and he seemed to shrug while John took him in.  
“Sher…lock?” John let his tongue slip out and wet his lips as he took in the man he never thought he would see again.  
“Yes.”  
Sherlock shifted under the hard gaze. For a moment John’s hand twitched and Sherlock took a small step back, imagining the different scenarios that could come from that twitch. His mind ran over the different ways John could react as he took a forced step forward to stand in the spot he’d been in before.  
“I’m sorry. Hit me if you’d like. I feel I deserve it,” Sherlock lifted his chin.  
John stared at him.  
“You think I’m going to hit you?” John asked his voice low.  
“Well, punch me, kick me, yell at me and possibly tell me to never come back. All options, you see.” Sherlock rocked on his toes and a small, sour smile pulled at his lips.  
John took a step forward. “You think I want to hurt you?”  
Sherlock shrugged. “It is a highly probable option. You don’t have a great hold on your anger when it comes to me and I’ve been gone for over a year, clearly not dead so it seemed to be the best choice.”  
John seemed to sag into himself. “Yes, finding my best friend alive and well would make me want to hit him…what is wrong with you?”  
“You aren’t angry?” Sherlock seemed confused.  
“Oh no, I am but I think I’ll get back to that feeling once this wears off,” John took a step forward so he was standing close enough to smell the musk that made Sherlock himself.  
Sherlock was real. He was standing in front of John and he was real. John reached out and grabbed the coat that wrapped around his friend. Sherlock stepped back quickly.  
“What are you doing?” Sherlock asked.  
“Just let me,” John said. He felt the worn material under his hand as he pulled Sherlock closer.  
“John…” Sherlock looked down.  
“Shut up for once.”  
John yanked Sherlock forward. Sherlock was taller, bigger, but John was stronger and had force in his side. He wrapped his arms around the man he’d thought he’d lost and inhaled the scent that had begun to wear away from his life.  
Sherlock stood, shocked at the sudden closeness of the man he’d watched through a window. Slowly he brought his arms up as well. John’s blond hair stood bright in contrast to his coat and he felt the warmth of the smaller man’s cheek against his shoulder. John was right. The anger could wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've always thought that john would be overjoyed to see Sherlock again and wouldn't really let the anger effect him, so I took this chapter with that idea in stride. 
> 
> Thanks to those on Tumblr who really enjoyed this chapter and asked me to keep going.


	3. The Man Who Was Left Behind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John deals with his feelings

John could feel Sherlock’s heart beating. The coat beneath his cheek was worn but still scratchy and the warmth of Sherlock enveloped him. He was angry, Sherlock had been right about that, but his relief at seeing his friend once more had outweighed the anger, at least for the moment. As he was reassured by the solid figure holding onto him, John felt his anger spurt and he brought the hand that had been clinging to Sherlock’s back away from their bodies, formed a fist and slammed it into Sherlock’s back. Sherlock jerked forward with a small cry and John noticed it was one of the few times anything had taken Sherlock off guard.  
He let the detective scramble away while he crossed his arms, curling his hands into tight fists.  
“Ha! You are angry!” Sherlock nearly jumped up and down.  
“Why are you excited?” John asked.  
“Because, John! John! I’m back and you’re….the same!” Sherlock smiled and brought his fingers to cover his mouth.   
“It’s been a year. How could you possibly know I’m the same?” John asked.  
Sherlock stepped closer once more. “Simple. Elementary I believe. Only you would actually hit me! Only you would let your frustration out on me! Oh John, how magnificent!”   
He grabbed onto John’s coat and spun them around. “Brilliant!” he cried.  
John shoved Sherlock back as he began to get dizzy. He kept his eyes trained on the joyful smile on the taller man’s face. It was hard to imagine the happy parts of Sherlock when all he could see was the blood blooming from the man’s head on a nightly basis. He began to rub his forehead as it all sank in.  
“You didn’t jump.”  
His voice was dull and Sherlock stopped smiling. “Well…”  
“I’d say not since you seem just fine. A full year, but if you’d fallen from a building you would at least be limping. Which means everything was fake. You made us believe it…”   
Sherlock raised his eyebrows.   
“Oh,” John shrugged his hands into his pockets, “Just me then. Well, there’s that then. Your deductions might just be right…I really feel like punching you in the face at this moment.”  
“Subtext,” Sherlock said.  
John smiled slightly and took a menacing step forward. Sherlock beamed. “Not subtext this time, no, just…blatant text.”  
He swung.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've really liked this chapter since I first wrote it, since I always thought Sherlock would focus on John being John and then missing the queue completely when John is angry.


	4. The Stark Truth

Sherlock allowed John to hit him. It was a sloppy punch that landed on his cheek and threw his head to the side. It was clearly made of pent up anger and Sherlock stumbled back with a bark of laughter as his hand cupped his cheek.   
“Why are you laughing?” John asked, breathing heavily. He leaned with his hands on knees while Sherlock caught his balance.  
“Figure it out, John.”   
“You’ve just come back and I already want to beat you bloody,” John shook his head.   
He rubbed his jaw while Sherlock dabbed at the blood on his cheek.   
“Oh I don’t doubt it. May I come in? It is rather cold and now that we’ve gotten this over with…well we can continue your angry sputtering inside, can’t we?”   
His deep voice resonated on the street and John knew Sherlock didn’t miss the people watching them with curiosity. John rubbed his forehead and the creases that had grown there since Sherlock’s absence.   
“Fine,” He muttered, “Fine, just fine. Come up. Let’s get on with it.”   
Sherlock bounced on the balls of his feet with a smug smile. As he passed John, John couldn’t help but let another fist fly. Sherlock let out an umph as he fell into the foyer and John let a small smile of victory play across his face before Sherlock turned with a frown.   
“What was that for?”   
John shoved Sherlock up the stairs before answering. The door slammed shut behind them before John let out a strangled sigh.  
“Anger doesn’t just go away, Sherlock. I’m still angry with you. I suspect I will be angry for quite some time.”  
“Yes, but why hit me again?” Sherlock seemed genuinely confused.  
John shoved him back into his chair and stared at the taller man for a moment before answering. Sherlock watched with his fingers steepled in front of his mouth. He didn’t seem at all concerned by the shove into his chair or by John’s anger.   
“Oh I don’t know maybe because I can,” John nearly shouted.  
“Do be quiet, John, don’t wish to wake Mrs. Hudson,” Sherlock chided, though he didn’t seem too worried if the smirk he gave John was any indication.   
“Bugger that. Where the hell have you been? Standing outside my window with bloody Mycroft? Watching but not saying anything?” John asked.   
“I’ve only been back for a month, don’t be daft,” Sherlock shook his head.   
He stilled when he realized John had stopped moving. “What?” he asked.  
“A month. A full….Sherlock….Hell…” John stalked across the floor and pivoted, doing a great impression of Sherlock when he was deducing.   
“Is that not satisfactory?” Sherlock leaned forward.   
“You’ve been back for a month. You’ve spoken to your brother I assume you’ve spoken to Molly and you must have spoken to Mrs. Hudson since you didn’t seem too keen on making me be quiet when she might hear which means I’m the last to know. I’m the one who…Dammit,” John ran his fingers through his hair with agitation.   
Sherlock stood and reached out. John flinched for a moment until Sherlock’s large palm rested on the curve of his neck. He stood stark still for a moment and felt his face shift.  
“Don’t frown like that,” Sherlock said curtly.   
“Why…What are you doing?”  
“John, listen. You are the last one because you are the most important. You…even when I told you it was all a lie you believed in me. At my grave you stood by me. You’re the one who I needed to believe I was gone because if you didn’t…if you didn’t even for a second you would die. And you can’t die for me. I told you John, I’m not a hero but you do make me believe I could be one.”


	5. If You Didn't Want To Know

John shoved the hand that rested on his neck away forcefully and stepped away. He slammed his fist into the wall with as much force as he could muster. Leaning his head against the spot he’d hit he let out a loud sigh that came out almost a growl.   
“I didn’t make you a good man, Sherlock,” he said.  
Sherlock reached out to John, touching his shoulder and letting his fingertips run down John’s arm. The jumper was worn and smelled slightly of Chinese food. John had been wearing it for at least two days. There was ketchup crusted on the sleeve. Three days. His eyes were drawn and his skin seemed to sag. He hadn’t been sleeping. When his fingers reached John’s wrist he quickly checked the other man’s pulse. It was faster than it should be, showing his anger and possibly more.   
As suddenly as he had moved, John spun around once more.   
“Damn you Sherlock! I begged you! I watched you! I…I loved you, dammit!”   
His fists slammed into Sherlock’s chest but this time Sherlock didn’t fall back. He smiled and let John beat at him. As the doctor calmed down he sighed once more.  
“Why…do I even want to know why you’re smiling?” he asked.   
“Because you admitted what I’ve known from the day we first met Moriarty,” Sherlock sounded smug and John wanted to hit him once more.   
“I assume you mean the sentiment of love. Congratulations Sherlock, you’ve found out the truth. Not that I’ve been hiding it for the past year. You know how many women have turned me down because of this? And you weren’t even here!”  
Sherlock took a step back. “I’d say around…6 before you gave up looking.”  
“7, actually. How did you know that?” John tipped his head.   
“Your hair,” Sherlock waved his hand to dismiss the notion, “but that’s not the point. No, not at all.”  
“My hair? My hair? What is the point, you bastard?” John asked savagely.   
“Your hair because of how it’s grown. You’re very clean cut usually, but when you don’t care you let your hair go. The point is you will forgive me,” Sherlock genuinely smiled and John couldn’t help but relax for a moment.   
“I suppose I will, you idiot.”   
Sherlock rocked back onto his heels before turning to fall once more into his chair. John felt tears spring to his eyes seeing his old friend in the chair that had been empty for a year. He turned away and let his body sag into itself as he thought.  
“John,” Sherlock spoke almost quietly.   
Sherlock was never quiet and John turned to face him in confusion.  
“I did…miss you,” Sherlock said forcefully.   
He jumped up suddenly and began to move about, picking up papers and books before dropping them back down onto their given surfaces. “I drove Molly nearly crazy with all of my bouncing as she called it. She told me nearly every night she would call you if I didn’t. Easy to manipulate, Molly is.”  
John sat down delicately. “You’ve been staying with Molly.”  
“Well of course. Mycroft offered but…well you know.”   
John picked at his sleeve and realized for the first time in three days that he hadn’t changed. Had it truly been three days? He licked his lips and motioned to Sherlock to keep talking.   
“Moriarty threatened everyone I cared about and my only choice was his life and mine. When he knew that I would do anything to make him stop hunting you, he shot himself. I did what I had to do to save you all. I told you I am no hero. Mycroft might be right that emotions hurt us but I seem to have let myself become more…” Sherlock seemed to struggle for a word.   
“Normal.” John spoke into his hands.   
Sherlock’s mouth became a thin line and John shook his head. “Not the time.” He said.   
“Right,” Sherlock smacked the armrest of his chair causing John to jump up. “Well, I’ve realized some things in my time being gone and yes, you admitted something I’ve been waiting to hear since the moment Mycroft texted you.”   
“And that is?”  
Sherlock stood and moved close to John. He grabbed John’s head between his hands and smiled. “That you, John Watson, love me.”


	6. The One the Detective Loves

“Don’t mock me, Sherlock.”   
“I’m not mocking,” Sherlock sounded offended and John looked up at his friend.  
His friend. His best friend. The man he had watched reach out to him before falling from a roof. The man who had said he was a fraud. He had begged him to not be dead, to be a miracle. He looked up into the steely eyes of his best friend and felt relief run through his veins. He was angry, yes, but he was also so happy he could hardly breathe. Nightly he’d begged for Sherlock to come back. He’d begged for the noises and the thumbs in the fridge and even for the odd stares he’d get when he walked down the street with Sherlock Holmes, the man no one understood. He’d grown used to the insanity of his best friend and as abruptly as he was gone, he’d come back again. With Sherlock’s hands on his face he could feel the warmth of the other man and he smiled.   
He stood on his toes and brushed his lips against Sherlock’s cheek. Sherlock jerked back.   
“Don’t.” John pushed him back as the surprise covered Sherlock’s face.  
“I wasn’t…” Sherlock grumbled, turning to the side so the red tint of his cheeks was only slightly visible.  
John took it in almost with glee as he moved toward the kitchen. It wasn’t very often that Sherlock was surprised and John would always covet those moments.   
“We cleared your name,” John said.  
“Are you uncomfortable with the subject at hand, John?” Sherlock asked pleasantly, following John.   
“Not remotely, but I do think you might be. I said I loved you Sherlock, not that I love you now or are even in love with you. Your ego is fantastic but you aren’t stupid when it comes to wording. You heard me and you heard me correctly. I notice you haven’t said anything in return,” John said.   
Sherlock faced the window he’d been peering into for days as he said, “Because you know, don’t you?”  
“I know what. Like you’ve pointed out countless times, my intellect doesn’t match up to yours. You might think we’re both thinking something, but we aren’t. I’m a step behind Sherlock, like always!”   
Sherlock turned sharply to face his flat mate and once more unnerving steel eyes met John’s.   
“You know that I loved you as well. Still do, it seems. Silly isn’t it? I thought after a year these things I feel would be gone but I seem to feel only more protective of you, John. I stayed away for a month because I thought it would help you, obviously,” Sherlock said.  
He spread his hands out in front of him and John felt himself rooted to the spot. Sherlock never spoke of his feelings. John could read them when they flashed across Sherlock’s face but he never said anything. Even when Irene had been presumed dead Sherlock hadn’t shown his true feelings but now here he stood telling John he loved him. John marveled at the sight. Beautiful, bigger than life Sherlock had said the word love and had meant it without disdain.   
“H…How is that obvious?” John stuttered, crossing his arms and tipping his head slightly.   
“Oh it just is! Obvious! Obvious to everyone! Remember when you met with Irene whom I thought was dead? She made a passing comment about you and I and though I ignored it then, well it isn’t any less true, is it? I spent days outside this building studying the window. Waiting for you to walk by it so I could glimpse your life. Better without me, I believed though since you haven’t changed your clothes in three days I’m inclined to change that hypothesis.”   
John stepped forward and Sherlock glanced down at him as he continued to speak. “So I have returned and I will resume my life in tandem with yours. Next to yours if you care to have it that way.”  
John took another step until he was nearly leaning on Sherlock’s chest. “Your life next to mine? Your life was never next to mine. It was mine. You remember how many women left me because I worked with you. Why do you think I want to go back?”  
Sherlock put his hands on John’s shoulders and seemed to study him for a moment before speaking. “Mrs. Hudson bought you that jumper for Christmas and I commented on the color. Such a dark green contrasts with your hair. You wore it 16 times after that. You haven’t taken it off for three days. It’s worn out which makes me assume you’ve worn it more before today. When you pushed me into that chair, the chair you seem to think is my chair, dust settled into my clothes which means you haven’t touched this seat. There isn’t much in the refrigerator to eat,” when John opened his mouth Sherlock waved his hand, “there’s a worn mark from Mrs. Hudson’s tea set on the table meaning she’s been making sure you’re eating. My skull has been moved from the mantel and from what I can see, my bedroom door is shut, making me think you simply did not want to see my things.”  
Sherlock finished with another smug grin and John wrestled with the need to once again punch his friend.   
“Right, so maybe you’re right but your life was never next to mine.”  
Sherlock still hadn’t stepped away and John realized even during Sherlock’s speech he himself hadn’t moved. Sherlock seemed to falter for a moment before leaning forward and resting his chin on John’s head.   
“No, there you are correct. We were next to one another though, weren’t we?”  
John had always found Sherlock to be like a child. He was whip-smart but his childlike view of the world made him endearing at times. Now he seemed like a young boy opening his eyes to something new. John smiled while Sherlock couldn’t see his face.  
“Yes, we stood side by side and Sherlock…” John closed his eyes, inhaling the scent of his friend so it seemed to seep into his pores, “I do still love you, for what that’s worth.”   
He could feel Sherlock smile and as he laid his hand against Sherlock’s chest he felt as well as heard his friend say, “I suppose it is worth a lot.”


	7. In Time It WIll Settle

John woke on the couch as the early morning light crept through the window. He was used to sleeping on the couch but this morning he woke feeling something was different. His green jumper stuck to his arms and he reminded himself he needed to shower and change before he repulsed Mrs. Hudson.   
“Would you like to hear what I was doing for the year I was gone?” the deep bass of Sherlock’s voice made him jump wide awake and remind himself of the night before. With the wave of relief came his acute feeling of self-consciousness and he crossed his arms.   
“No dream then,” he said to himself.  
Sherlock was wrapped in a bed sheet sitting in his chair with his legs crossed. “No, I would say not,” he said, sounding amused.   
John stretched out, rubbing the kink in his neck.  
“So you’re back,” he said to his feet.  
Sherlock shifted so his heels rested on the edge of the chair, his knees blocking his face. “It would seem so,” he said.   
John could hear the smile in Sherlock’s voice. Even now, after a year, he could read the man by his voice and the angle of his head. He rose and stretched his arms over his head, watching Sherlock as if he might disappear. Sherlock dropped his feet back to the floor and stood with a jump of excitement. He clapped his hands together and John let his eyes drift away as the sheet shifted over Sherlock’s shoulder.   
“What were you doing?” John asked the floor.   
Sherlock rearranged his bed sheet before answering. “Keeping us safe, of course. Moriarty was the heart of the operation but without him it could keep moving. I eliminated everything and everyone that needed eliminating. Who knew emotions could be such an extreme motivator?”   
“Everyone but you,” John said mostly to himself.  
“John,” Sherlock barked suddenly.   
John spun to face Sherlock, half expecting to see him bloody on the floor like he’d seen every day for a year when he closed his eyes. Instead, his friend was smiling at him. He caught John by the shoulders and yanked him close, hugging him tightly. There was a childish joy in the embrace and Sherlock bounced on his toes for a moment before settling in.   
John hadn’t been hugged so tightly for quite some time and he stood rigid until Sherlock rested his chin once more on John’s head and asked, “Is this not right?”  
“I’m not quite sure…” John said.   
“Would you like to try something else?” Sherlock pulled back a bit and peered down at John.  
John didn’t dream of Sherlock alive and happy which had always felt like the worst part of the nightmare. Sherlock who had so much life and so much passion had been gone. In his place had been the sad and desperate man who had leapt to his death. Who had reached out for a breath before making designs in red on the sidewalk. Now, peering down at him, Sherlock seemed to spark the part of John that had died with him the year prior. John had loved Sherlock. Everyone had known it. And Sherlock had loved John. It wasn’t the usual kind of love, that much had been obvious, but together they were something and John knew as he’d known when Sherlock had fallen from the roof that he and this man were tied to one another and one without the other was only a shadow of what they could be.   
“Don’t move,” John said, “think of it as an experiment.”   
John stood on his toes and was hopelessly glad that Sherlock was stooping to hear as he let his mouth brush Sherlock’s. Sherlock’s eyes stayed open but he didn’t pull back and he didn’t drop his arms from around the doctor. The relief at finding his best friend alive was enough to drop any walls he’d had and he felt drawn to Sherlock. Sherlock seemed to feel the same way if his tugging on the back of John’s jumper was any indication. He wrapped his long arms around John tightly and bent down farther so the light brushing of lips became an intimate close encounter.   
Sherlock smelled of old parchment and chemicals but he tasted of tea and mint. John pushed up and Sherlock bent down, neither of them caring about the open window or the fact that the world was continuing on. Sherlock pulled back and rested his forehead on John’s for a moment while a smile bloomed across his face. Childlike wonder played across his features.   
“Magnificent,” he said breathlessly.   
John took in the face resting near his own and smiled his own joyful smile. “I thought it was worth a try.”   
Sherlock spun his hand in the air and they watched the dust particles move around them in the morning light. Standing in his bed sheet, his arms around John Watson, Sherlock felt something he didn’t realize he’d been missing. As the dust settled he realized he was simply content.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you're all enjoying this work! In this chapter I wanted to show love and affection that doesn't always have to end with two people naked. I hope you enjoy! Thank you once more to the tumblr world for loving this chapter the most and showing me by constant reblogs :)


	8. Then the Storm Comes

Sherlock had known it wouldn’t all be perfect when he saw John again but he also didn’t think John could be so vindictive. As Sherlock leaned out the window blowing smoke rings as best he could John reached around and snatched the offensive item from his long fingers. Tossing it quickly to the street below John stepped back.  
“Now then, I’ve called Lestrade and he’s got a case for us if you’re up for it,” he said.  
He’d showered and now wore a simple button up. With his hands shoved in his pockets he looked like the John Sherlock remembered. The John that could infuriate him and make him smile in the same moment. He bit his lip and rocked on the balls of his feet.   
“I needed that,” he complained.  
“What we both need is a case so I don’t punch you in the face and you don’t rip apart this flat,” John scolded, “I’ve chosen to be kind but it doesn’t mean I forgive you quite yet.”   
Sherlock crossed his arms.  
“It’s an 8. Oh, and Anderson is betting I’m making this all up and that you are indeed dead. They think I’ve cracked. Seems Lestrade’s been keeping your secret well. Now will you get ready so we can get going? You can’t wear a sheet to Scotland Yard,” John said.   
Sherlock paused for a moment before stomping off to his room.   
“Why can’t I? How do you know this is an 8?” he called out to John as he shrugged himself into his jacket.   
John poked his head around the corner as Sherlock buttoned his pants and answered, “Because they’ll arrest you for it. It’s a serial killer. That’s how, now let’s go.”   
Sherlock smiled and grabbed John before he could turn. “That…experiment we did this morning, can we do it again?”  
The smile of a young boy lit up Sherlock’s features and John smiled back. “Yes, quickly. I told Lestrade we’d be there by 10 and it’s nearly 11. Oh, your collar is all wrong, here-“  
He leaned forward to fix Sherlock’s collar only to feel Sherlock’s cool mouth catch his own. He let out a muffled gasp of surprise before catching his fingers in the curls at the back of the detective’s neck. Sherlock who never showed affection or attachment had kissed John Watson on his own without any prompting. John let the awe flow through his body, his fingers clinging to the detective’s collar. As suddenly as it had begun it ended and Sherlock’s fingers met John’s, turning the collar down correctly.   
“Now let’s go see this 8,” he said pleasantly. John shook his head, feeling a little dazed, before following Sherlock out the door. 

Lestrade hadn’t changed since Sherlock had last seen him. He nodded with a drawn smile to Sherlock and John before turning to his desk.  
“Right, welcome back Mr. Holmes. Please tell your brother I no longer need him to keep me updated and he can stop calling at any time. When you get the chance. John has mentioned that you need a case and I happen to have one for you. The Candy Cane Killer. So called for the stripes on the skin of the victims,” Lestrade said.   
Sherlock held out his hand for the file. “How many victims?”   
“5 so far. We can’t find any connection between them besides the fact that they’re all men. It seems to be poison that’s causing them to have the odd stripes on their skin, though we aren’t sure.”  
Sherlock snapped the file shut. “Are they in the morgue?”  
“Yes, until we can dispose of them. Would you like to see them?” Lestrade raised his eyebrows at the detective.  
“Well of course, what a stupid question,” Sherlock said with near disgust.  
John cleared his throat. Sherlock looked chagrined for a moment before his face smoothed out once more and he straightened his jacket.  
“Right. First, where is Anderson. I hear he doesn’t believe I’m alive,” he said.   
“He’s been told the truth,” Lestrade said stiffly.  
“All the same, I’d like a word,” Sherlock said.  
“After we check the morgue if you don’t mind. I have a lunch date I’d like to make it to.”  
Sherlock sniffed and John hid his slight smile.   
“Right. Well. Lead the way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the kudos and for sticking with this work.


	9. Coming Home is Easy (Sometimes)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're nearing the end! I've always liked Molly and I wanted her part in this to be one of importance. I like her speech with John so I hope you all enjoy it.

Molly greeted them at the morgue with a special smile for Sherlock. John noticed there was no nervous energy in Molly and she didn’t watch Sherlock with desperation. They moved around each other in a nearly fluid motion, proving to those watching that they had fallen into an easy rhythm while he’d been staying with her. She smiled at him with friendship when he asked to see the bodies and when he held out his hand for the file she didn’t jump when he asked for it. John felt approval and sadness seep into his bones as he watched them. They seemed to be in their own bubble as Sherlock’s rapid fire questions were answered by Molly’s now steady voice.   
“John! John? Aren’t you listening?” Sherlock barked.   
“Sorry,” John shook his head, “Odd night, bit off I suppose.”  
Sherlock was nearly crouching under the table to look at the stripes that seemed to ring around the arm of the heavy business man on the table.   
“I…uh…he was 42 worked internationally with different governments which is how he got the flu…he was sick when he died but that isn’t what killed him. It was the um…poison but….well we don’t know how it entered his body or what it is,” Molly said again, watching John with wide eyes.   
John had seen Molly a handful of times in the year he’d been alone. She’d called him for drinks and had even come and just sat with him for 3 hours when Mrs. Hudson had gone out for the night. Now he saw a new Molly and one who had lied to him for a year. He felt his face flush with anger and he stalked toward the door.  
“John?” Sherlock called after him but John didn’t stop.   
He was relieved and he was happy but he was also angry. He was the last to know. The last to know that the man who had changed his life hadn’t actually died. He’d missed Sherlock like there was a hole in his chest that simply wouldn’t heal and now the hole was filling once more but the anger that spurted in him didn’t stop. He leaned against the wall.  
“John?” It was Molly who had come after him. Molly, not Sherlock. He closed his eyes.   
He didn’t know what he’d expected. A kiss didn’t mean the same thing to Sherlock that it meant to him. He should have known as much. He turned to Molly with a small smile.  
“He was so afraid for you,” she said abruptly.  
John crossed his arms and she smiled nervously before continuing. “Even before it happened. Before it got really bad. He looked so sad when you looked away and he was scared. He told me…he told me he thought he would die and so I helped make sure he wouldn’t. He would do anything for you, John. You’re always the first one he thinks of even if he doesn’t say it.”  
“How would you know?” John asked.  
She looked sad when she smiled this time and answered, “Because no matter what he says, I don’t count. He speaks to me like he’d speak to someone close to him. If he was like that. He speaks to me like he’d speak to himself. Like he’d speak to an empty room. We’re friends but only because he needs someone who adores him to listen and not say a word. I know you’re angry but don’t stay angry John, it isn’t worth it. He is dedicated to you and there will never be anyone else like you.”  
John opened his mouth to reply when Sherlock came stalking down the hall. For a split second John felt overwhelmed. His friend had always been larger than life. Lestrade was behind him and he called out to Sherlock but Sherlock didn’t take his eyes from John. Catching John’s arm he spun him around until they faced each other. Sherlock lurched to a stop as he seemed to glare at John.  
“You’re angry with me,” he said.  
“We don’t really have time…” Lestrade was saying but Sherlock waved him off.   
“I’d call that an understatement, but yes,” John said.  
“For telling everyone but you,” Sherlock squinted down at him.  
“Yes, I’d say so,” John replied tightly.   
“You think I don’t….” Sherlock gestured somewhat wildly.  
“Care?” Molly asked shyly.  
“Yes, that,” Sherlock said.   
John looked up at the ceiling and shook his head. Sherlock caught him once more and looked at him earnestly.   
“I do. You know I do. I’ve said as much,” Sherlock said.  
John remembered the night before. Sherlock’s words and the sudden lightness John had felt. He let his mind run over what Molly had said and he shrugged Sherlock’s hand off his shoulder.  
“Fine. Let’s just get on with the case, then,” he said.  
“Yes, let’s. I really don’t want to miss this lunch date,” Lestrade said with almost palpable relief.  
Sherlock kept his eyes locked on John’s for a moment before turning to Lestrade. “You go to your date then; we’ll do this on our own. Thank you Molly, for your time.”  
Lestrade looked taken aback but he nodded. Molly smiled and patted Sherlock’s arm before moving down the hall once more. Lestrade seemed to be waiting for something but Sherlock had turned back to John. With Lestrade looking on, Sherlock rested his palm on the side of John’s face, cupping his cheek and letting his thumb touch John’s bottom lip. Sherlock let out a sigh and leaned forward so his head rested on top of John’s. Lestrade began to sputter.  
John realized this was Sherlock’s new favorite spot and he relaxed. Molly had been right. Sherlock did miss him; it was just in the other man’s nature to not know how to say it. While Lestrade seemed to flail in his own skin John and Sherlock shared a moment of companionable silence. They took in the feeling of one another and drew strength from the fact that they were once again in each other’s lives.   
“Right,” Sherlock said, his voice vibrating down John’s spine, “We’ll go see the families of the victims and see if we can find any connections. Call us when you’re done with your lunch, I’m sure we’ll be ready to chat then.”   
Lestrade couldn’t move fast enough and he nearly ran down the hall to get away from the personal scene he had witnessed.  
“Well, John, are you still angry?” Sherlock asked. He still hadn’t moved and John inched closer so he was nearly touching Sherlock’s chest with his nose.   
“Yes, but it can wait. Let’s go catch a killer.”


	10. Comfort

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last actual chapter and I know it's rather short, but never fear! I have an epilogue! 
> 
> If anyone is interested in my tumblr account, it's thesepaperbones.tumblr.com 
> 
> Thank you for reading through this story and I hope to post more in the future.

John studied the marks on the different men’s arms and along their chests from the pictures Molly had handed to Sherlock as they moved down the sidewalk at Sherlock’s usual fast and flowing pace. Sherlock held out his hand as they walked and John looked up, confused.  
“The papers,” he said curtly.  
John nodded. Sherlock was in his place where no one else mattered. Where the case was the only thing he could think of. John had faded into the background, becoming useful only when Sherlock needed an extra pair of hands. Sherlock stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, causing people to break and move around them. He studied the pictures, his face calculating.  
John almost smiled as he thought about the world as it had been. Before Moriarty and before any doubt had been planted in their minds this was the world he’d inhabited with Sherlock. It almost didn’t matter that Sherlock had kissed him, that he would stand close to John and simply rest so their breath could mingle. They had always been that close, there had just been a barrier between them. Now with that wall torn down life could go on as it always had, just with a little more light.  
John shoved his hands deep into his pockets and waited. Molly had been right. Anger was well placed but it shouldn’t last forever. Sherlock spun to face him, joy shining on his face and his coat whirling around him, the papers grasped tightly in his left hand.   
“Come on, John! I know where to look next!”   
And as Sherlock held out his hand John felt his anger slip away. Grasping the hand of his best friend, he let Sherlock pull him through the streets of London and if the lights seemed a little brighter it was only because he could feel the pulse and warmth of the man in front of him and it was glorious.


	11. Epilogue: A Month Later

John still wasn’t 100% sure upon waking if Sherlock was truly alive or if the past month had been a dream. They’d caught the Candy Cane Killer and the papers had once more revered the brilliant Sherlock Holmes who had faked his own death and taken down an evil empire, but as always, Sherlock didn’t care. As the morning wore on, John padded into the kitchen of their flat to find Sherlock pouring acid over a nail. Rolling his eyes, he began to make tea.  
“For me, please,” Sherlock said pleasantly from his spot at the kitchen table.   
The morning light came in from the window and played across Sherlock’s curls, lighting up his head like a crown. John ruffled his hair as he walked by.  
“There is a great big world out there, John,” Sherlock said abruptly.   
“Yes, I’d say so,” John answered, not sure where the comment was going.  
“I’ve been asked to go to Africa. There seem to many interesting cases ready for the solving,” Sherlock said.   
John stopped his movements. He looked to his flat mate and waited.   
“I would…well…would you join me?”   
Sherlock was always abrasive and he spoke in a curt tone. If John didn’t know him, if someone who had only just met Sherlock had heard him as they would be offended. It seemed as if Sherlock didn’t care. But John knew. He looked into the cool eyes he’d grown so used to and still felt a slight shock at their pure ability to see right through him. Sherlock was begging with his face, even if he didn’t know it.   
John stepped forward, away from the tea he’d been preparing and stood in front of Sherlock. Sherlock raised his hands and rested them on John’s shoulders. John leaned his forehead against Sherlock’s, a position they’d stood in many times in the month Sherlock had been home, and breathed in deeply. Sherlock let his arms wrap around John. Sherlock took in the sturdy form of John and John let the feeling of comfort seep into him.   
The world could go on around them and neither would have moved for it. Sherlock shut his eyes and waited for John’s reply. John moved closer so he was bent, his head resting on Sherlock’s shoulder. For this moment, the world was silent and both men took it in.   
As Sherlock began to release John, John smiled. Pulling back, he looked into Sherlock’s face. Leaning in, he lightly brushed his lips against Sherlock’s. Sherlock rose slightly into the kiss before falling back into his seat, his eyes anxious.   
John turned back to the tea while a smirk played across his face. He waited until Sherlock had pounded the now destroyed nail into the table before saying,  
“Of course I’ll go. I’d be lost without my detective.”   
Sherlock’s brief smile could light up a room and his yell of joy could be heard on the street. Though the door to 221B Baker Street was closed, another door had opened. John and Sherlock would walk out of it side by side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it, kids. Since I put a sort of end note on this when I posted the update on tumblr, I figued I'd do the same here. In this, I wanted to show them in the kind of relationship I see them having. They clearly love one another but that doesn't always mean sex. I believe that if Sherlock wanted to give affection, he wouldn't do it only in public unless asked. He just doesn't have the boundaries. I also wanted to keep them in character as much as possible, though looking through it, I can say I'd make John angry for longer in a rewrite. 
> 
> But never fear, I'll probably do a few more so I can get out some other ideas I have :)
> 
> I have been working on a piece mixing fallen angels and Sherlock together which I may or may not post here since the angels are actually my own original characters from a novel I've written. If anyone is interested, comments are appreciated! 
> 
> Thank you all!


End file.
